


Oistros

by AirgiodSLV



Series: Oistros [1]
Category: Bandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-21
Updated: 2008-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-19 02:29:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AirgiodSLV/pseuds/AirgiodSLV
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>It’s like going into heat, like with cats, with the added bonus of becoming completely fixated on one specific person. Spencer isn’t sure whether cats do that or not, but if they do, it’s much less freaky than when Ryan does it.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Oistros

**Author's Note:**

> For and because of [](http://disarm-d.livejournal.com/profile)[**disarm_d**](http://disarm-d.livejournal.com/) (isn't everything?), who also helped to get this back on track when it went astray. Thanks to [](http://maleyka.livejournal.com/profile)[**maleyka**](http://maleyka.livejournal.com/) for looking it over and providing reassurances.

Ryan does this thing.

It happens every two-and-a-half years or so, and is apparently genetic, but that’s really all Spencer knows. He’d asked a lot of questions the first time, but Ryan just kept answering, “I don’t know,” so Spencer had pragmatically stopped asking.

Besides, the first time it happened, Spencer had been kind of busy anyway.

-

It’s like going into heat, like with cats, with the added bonus of becoming completely fixated on one specific person. Spencer isn’t sure whether cats do that or not, but if they do, it’s much less freaky than when Ryan does it.

Ryan had fixated on Spencer the first time, and Spencer had spent most of a week that summer learning all about sex at age twelve, which was convenient in some ways because it made puberty considerably less daunting.

The second time it had been Ryan’s girlfriend, which had been painful to watch because he went crazy trying not to scare her off and then she dumped him halfway through anyway, which was a whole different headache.

The important lesson learned that time had been that no matter how close they were, once Ryan had picked someone, it was out of Spencer’s hands.

-

Spencer knows they’re getting close to a third time around, because he keeps track of these things. He has contingency plans.

According to his calendar, though, which has ‘RYAN’ written in red and underlined so hard it’s scored the paper, it should be next month, once they’re safely out of the Maryland studio and Spencer can keep Ryan locked in his basement if necessary.

Instead, he gets up from recording the first drum tracks, stretches and rolls out his shoulders, and catches sight of Ryan. Ryan, who is staring hungrily and in no way subtly at Brendon’s mouth. Ryan, who looks about three seconds away from pouncing, and Spencer knows that look.

“No,” he says out loud, like that can possibly stop it. “Ryan, no.”

Brendon says, “What?”

-

“Leave him alone,” Spencer snaps as soon as he’s dragged Ryan outside, out of earshot and into the humid east coast summer.

Ryan kicks moodily at gravel, sulking with his hands stuffed in his pockets, less mindlessly predatory now that he’s out of Brendon’s immediate presence. “I can’t.”

“This means nothing good,” Spencer warns him, trying to sound intimidating and probably just looking ridiculous, in skinny jeans with fraying cuffs and a baby-doll t-shirt with a rainbow. He wishes he’d dressed more like a mafia enforcer this morning. “Not for the band, not for you.”

“I _know_ ,” Ryan grumps, sending more gravel flying before he gives up and sits down.

Spencer stands there for another minute, hips cocked and arms folded, and then sighs and sits beside him. “Is it too late to pick someone else?”

Ryan nods. “It feels like it’s been happening for a while. Not a long time, I mean, just a couple of days.” He holds his hands up when Spencer opens his mouth. “I wasn’t paying attention, okay? This wasn’t supposed to happen for another month.”

“I know.” Spencer slumps again, and thinks about kicking the gravel.

“I’m only fixated on him because he keeps fucking up my lyrics,” Ryan complains. “Jesus.”

“Ryan,” Spencer warns, and isn’t sure what to say beyond that. He settles for another sigh.

-

“Really?” Brendon says when they tell him. There’s no way they could _not_ tell him, although Spencer’s been putting it off for as long as possible. But this afternoon Brendon had played something new at the keyboard, eyes closed and lips parted, swaying as his fingers arched over the keys, and Spencer had thought despairingly, _fuck, that’s it._

“No, we’re making this up,” Ryan says snidely. “Asshole.”

“Ryan,” Spencer says again, even though it was a pretty stupid question. Ryan just glares mutely at him.

“I think I read something about that once,” Brendon says thoughtfully. “Maybe in…”

“If you say Harry Potter, I will kill you,” Ryan says, perfectly flat, but that doesn’t make it any less of a threat.

“Biology,” Brendon finishes, looking surprised at Ryan’s interjection. “Although Harry Potter, that would be cool too. Maybe you’re a wizard.”

Ryan’s hands tighten slowly on the cuffs of his jeans, strangling denim. Spencer starts thinking up ways to help them all survive the week.

-

By nightfall, Ryan’s completely gone. Spencer runs interference when he can, blames Ryan’s weird moods on the stress and pressure of recording when anyone starts giving him sideways looks, and rushes everyone out as soon as they finish working for the day.

Brendon had started out giving Ryan space, obviously thinking that would help, but after the fourth time Ryan had cornered him just to rub his arm or lean against him, he’d changed tactics and stayed close. It probably helped, a little, but from the look in Ryan’s eyes, the calming effect was rapidly wearing thin beneath the intense desire to start throwing Brendon into walls.

They’re sharing rooms anyway, it’s no big deal to make up an excuse and switch so Brendon’s in with Ryan. That’s what they had all decided would be for the best, although Spencer privately has his doubts. He knows Brendon is probably thinking he’s in for a week of string-free buddy sex, but Spencer doesn’t really know how to explain to him that it’s going to be a whole lot more than that, and in the end, not as much fun as it sounds.

In the middle of dinner, Ryan leans over and licks a smear of pizza sauce off Brendon’s neck. They all freeze while Brent stares, and then Brendon starts laughing and says, “Gross, Ross,” and licks him back. Brent is still looking at them like they’re aliens, but that’s how he usually looks at them, so Spencer thinks they’re still okay. He sends _behave_ sternly across the room with his eyes and brainwaves, and Ryan sets his chin but manages to keep his tongue away from Brendon for the rest of the meal.

Small victories, Spencer thinks, and mentally congratulates them for getting through day one.

-

Brendon fidgets the whole time they’re getting ready for bed, and looks like he’s trying to pull Spencer aside about a dozen times just in the course of brushing and flossing his teeth, so Spencer finally corners him while Ryan is on the phone and says, “What?”

Brendon looks up and down the hallway, shifting his weight from foot to foot while some fierce internal debate rages, and finally drags Spencer into the bathroom with him and shuts the door. Spencer’s startled yelp is purely one of surprise, and can’t be held against him should anyone mention it in the future.

“See, there’s this, um,” Brendon starts, doing the weight-shifting dance again, and Spencer crosses his arms and gives him a look that says _get on with it_ , so he hastily rushes out, “I’m kind of a virgin.”

Spencer stares at him like that will make Brendon take it back, and then thinks _fuck._ “Fuck.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Brendon says, like it’s his fault that Ryan has faulty genetic wiring. His hands have started screwing up his sleep shirt until the fabric is stretched and wrinkled. It says, _Summer Camp ’02: God is the way to salvation._ Spencer thinks _Jesus Christ._

“Okay,” Spencer says, putting together a mental list, being practical. “You can probably get away with handjobs and blowjobs tonight, you just have to be firm with him when you don’t want something. Do you know how to use condoms?”

“Um.” Brendon’s neck is flushing, spreading up to color his cheeks. “In theory?”

 _Fuck._ “I’ll be right back,” Spencer says, because condoms and lube are kind of important, and Ryan sure as hell won’t be thinking about them. The weight of sanity rests solely on Brendon. Spencer hopes he’s ready for it.

-

When he steps out of the bathroom, he nearly runs into Ryan, who is in the process of trying to burn the door down with his eyes. Spencer closes the door behind him, blocking Brendon from view, and says, “Girl talk. We just need a few more minutes, and so help me God, Ryan, if you touch him before I get back, I will break your arm.”

Ryan smolders resentfully at him, but the suspicious jealousy has given way to sulking, so Spencer could really care less.

He grabs a condom and a bottle of lube from his bag, just in case, and manages to slip into the bathroom again without attracting Ryan’s attention. “Okay, this is the quicknotes version,” he tells Brendon in a rush, ripping open one of the foil packages. “I’m going to do it once, and then you’re going to do it, and then ask me whatever questions you have that I can answer in a hurry, because Ryan’s getting kind of…”

He lets that trail off. Brendon knows what Ryan is kind of getting like. Or he has an idea, anyway. He’s about to get a much, much better one.

Brendon swallows and nods. “Right, he says, bobbing his head. “Cool.”

He looks scared. Spencer guesses he would be too, but he also knows what Brendon is about to walk into, so he stops and says slowly, “You don’t have to do this.”

They’d never actually said that. They’d just explained, and Brendon had nodded and taken it in, and asked as many questions as Spencer had at first, although Brendon’s had been more along the lines of, “Are you, like, one of those guys on the Viagra commercials who should seek help if they have an erection lasting longer than six hours?” and Ryan had looked ready to strangle him.

To his credit, Brendon actually stops and thinks it over for a few seconds. Then he smiles, cheerful and careless, and says, “If I don’t, who will? I’m saving the world here, Spence, people are depending on me.”

Spencer rolls his eyes and tries not to feel too relieved. “Okay,” he says, refocusing their attention before Ryan starts breaking down the door. “Condoms.”

-

Brendon comes out late to breakfast, or late for him, anyway, which is just after 8 AM. Spencer does a quick evaluation and wordlessly passes the cereal.

“Thanks,” Brendon says, filling his bowl up with five different kinds of sugar and food coloring. He doesn’t wince when he sits down, so Spencer’s guessing he successfully negotiated his way out of the more daunting physical activities.

“Did you sleep at all?” he asks, as Brendon nearly pours orange juice over his cereal instead of milk.

Brendon shrugs, knuckling sleep-dust out of his eyes. “Some. Mostly this morning.”

Spencer starts to say something else, but just then Ryan appears, looking just as rumpled as Brendon in faded flannel pajama pants and an old t-shirt with two holes near the hem, the bright stain of a hickey creeping out from under his collar. It figures Brendon would be the one to leave hickeys.

Ryan blinks once before his gaze focuses on Brendon, sharp and sudden, and Spencer sees Brendon’s eyes widen in response, like some part of him had thought it was over now, or would only happen at night.

Brendon talks a big game, but Spencer’s fairly sure he still harbors romantic notions about the morning after involving soft smiles and touches and maybe slow, gentle sex in the shower.

He’s probably going to get the shower sex part, but it’s not going to be particularly gentle.

“Hey,” Spencer says casually, to distract Ryan from Brendon for a minute so he can at least wolf down some breakfast. He’s going to need the energy.

-

Recording is hell. That’s a nice way of putting it.

Brendon is completely useless when he doesn’t get enough sleep anyway, and the fact that Ryan is constantly staring at Brendon like he wants to make a meal of him really isn’t helping. Brendon fumbles chords, drops equipment worth several thousand dollars, forgets the words, and can’t seem to stop himself from going into spasms of nervous laughter every time it happens.

Ryan is on edge and frustrated by more than just the music, so it’s nobody’s fault, but when Ryan rips into Brendon for the umpteenth time over the same exact line, Brendon finally squares his shoulders and fights back.

“Hey, Ross,” he says. “Could you maybe try not to be so pissy?”

No one moves. Then Ryan breaks their silent staring contest to throw down his guitar and storm out, hands balled into fists.

Spencer hesitates for a minute, torn, but Brendon doesn’t look particularly upset, just resigned. Spencer goes after Ryan.

-

“Would a blowjob help?” Spencer asks casually when Ryan storms out for the second time, kicking viciously at the already-abused gravel outside their door.

Ryan glares at him so fiercely that he ought to have flames shooting out of his eyeballs. Spencer leans against the wall and doesn’t flinch.

“Because I could probably make that happen,” he continues. “If I suddenly have a fit of insecurity about the way one of my tracks was laid down, will it give you enough time?”

Ryan unwinds a little, hands and shoulders uncurling reluctantly. “Yeah,” he says finally. “I think so.”

“Go disappear,” Spencer tells him, pushing off the wall. “I’ll send Brendon to you.”

He’s nearly through the door when Ryan speaks up. “Spence.”

Spencer turns around and arches his eyebrows. Ryan folds his arms awkwardly and looks at the ground, then grimaces and meets his eyes. “Thanks.”

Spencer just shrugs, a silent _what are friends for?_ and goes in to play fussy artist.

-

The next morning, it’s pretty clear that more happened than just blowjobs.

“Okay?” Spencer asks when Brendon sits down for breakfast, moving slowly and gingerly the whole time.

Brendon’s face is kind of pale even for Brendon, and he winces when he leans forward to pick up the cereal box. “Yeah,” he says, shrugging it off. “Just, you know.”

“Yeah,” Spencer says. He can sympathize; he knows what Ryan’s cock looks like, and it’s a fairly safe bet that it hasn’t gotten any smaller since the last time Spencer saw it.

“We need more Cocoa Puffs,” Brent says, coming up behind them and reaching for the box. His leg jostles Brendon’s chair, and Spencer sees Brendon blanch before his expression clears and he puts a hand over his face, pink with embarrassment and laughing a little.

When Brent takes his cereal bowl over to the couch to watch cartoons while he eats, Spencer leans over and drops his voice. “Hey,” he says quietly. “It does get easier.”

Brendon looks dubious, but he smiles anyway. “I can totally handle it. I’m a pro,” he says, and Spencer rolls his eyes again but doesn’t comment.

Ryan comes in right after that, so Spencer doesn’t get the chance to say anything else anyway.

-

Brendon naps on the couch during lunch, and Spencer thinks it’s probably good for him to get all the sleep he can, so he just saves the veggie sandwich for later. Brendon can eat it while they lay Ryan’s guitar tracks.

Brent heads over and acts like he’s going to shake Brendon awake, so Spencer heads him off and tries not to let the volume level get too out of hand. Ryan is nowhere to be found, probably outside texting Pete a progress report and avoiding Brendon.

They have ten minutes left on lunch when Ryan comes back in, his whole body tense, looking anywhere but Brendon. Spencer meets his gaze and raises his eyebrows, nodding questioningly towards Brendon. Ryan has the grace to look pained, but he nods shortly.

Spencer rests a hand on Brendon’s shoulder and squeezes gently. “Bren. Hey.”

Brendon wakes up bleary and disoriented, fumbling to set his glasses back in place on the bridge of his nose. “Hey,” he slurs. “What?”

“Ten minutes before we get started again,” Spencer says.

“Thanks,” Brendon says, and looks ready to go back to sleep for the next nine-and-a-half, but then he catches sight of Ryan and some of the grogginess drops away. “Oh. Right.”

Spencer opens his mouth to say that Brendon doesn’t have to do this every time they ask, but Brendon knows that already, and he really kind of does have to if they want to avoid an incident.

Brendon just smiles at him and reaches up to squeeze the hand that Spencer still has on his shoulder. “Thanks,” he says again, and follows Ryan.

-

Ryan and Brendon turn in early and Brent’s talking to his girlfriend in the bedroom he shares with Spencer, so Spencer stays out in the living room for a while watching television. He thinks he might be getting homesick, in the way that he’s starting to miss things like his computer desk and DVD collection and his mom’s cookies. The couch here is too lumpy.

Brent comes out after a while with a weird look on his face. Spencer moves his legs so Brent can sit down, and then they watch TV together until the credits roll, which is when Spencer starts flipping channels again and Brent says uncomfortably, “I think Brendon and Ryan are having sex.”

Spencer doesn’t let the muscles in his face so much as twitch. “What?” he asks, making it both as bland and vaguely forbidding as possible.

Brent squirms around a little, but he doesn’t back down. “It sounds like they’re, you know,” he says, with a hand gesture that looks nothing like anything Spencer has ever done with guys, but which probably equals _gay gay sex_ in Brent’s head.

Spencer arches his eyebrows slowly and deliberately. “So?” he asks.

He’s intimidated Brent before, but apparently this is one of those things he’s just not going to drop. “Don’t you think it’s…with the band, and…”

He tapers off, and Spencer turns back to the television. “Maybe one of them brought a girl back,” he says, shrugging. There’s no way Brent’s going to believe that, not with both of them in the same bedroom and nowhere else to go, but it’s worth a shot. He bares his teeth in something approximating a grin. “Maybe they both brought a girl back.”

He sees _threesome_ dawn slowly in Brent’s eyes, and sets down the remote. He’s too tired for television suddenly, and maybe Ryan will be worn out and quiet enough for a little while that Spencer can fall asleep.

-

He finds Brendon in the bathroom in the morning, staring at the sink. Spencer shifts a few times, trying to decide how desperately he needs to relieve himself, and finally nudges Brendon over far enough that he can brush his teeth.

Brendon’s gaze flicks over to him as he starts brushing, and then down and away again. It’s pretty obviously avoidance, so Spencer just spits, rinses, waits until Brendon sneaks another look at him in the mirror, and gives him an expression that says _what?_

Brendon laughs a little nervously, glancing away again, and then starts to talk before he bites his lip and stops. Spencer gives him five seconds, then reaches out and deliberately shuts the bathroom door. If Brent catches them, he’ll just make something up. If Ryan catches them…well, Spencer can handle Ryan.

Spencer puts his toothbrush away, crosses his arms, and waits.

It only takes a few seconds before Brendon caves. “I’m kind of, um,” he says, waving his hand around and not meeting Spencer’s eyes. “Bleeding. Still.”

Spencer blinks, then uncrosses his arms. “Since when?” he asks, and wonders if he has enough time this morning to go online and look up what’s normal. He’s almost certain it varies.

“I guess the last time was around three o’clock?” Brendon tries, face scrunched up as he tries to remember. “Maybe four.”

Spencer frowns, stomach sinking a little. “How many times?” he asks, and tries not to sound accusatory, because Brendon really is just trying to help.

“Three last night,” Brendon says, blushing slightly the way he still does whenever sex comes up. “Two the night before, I think. That’s not…I mean, not counting blowjobs and stuff. It bled a little before, but not…like this.”

Spencer swears loud and long enough that Brendon winces. “Say no,” he orders, before he rips into Brendon any more for being an idiot who tries to make people happy at his own expense. “When that fails, say _fuck_ no.”

Brendon has the grace to look embarrassed. “I know,” he says. “I know, I was just…”

“You’re the only one with any sense left,” Spencer says, sharp enough that Brendon’s mouth snaps shut. “Use it. Tell him fucking no.”

Brendon nods, and Spencer balls his hands into fists and walks out before he can do anything stupid.

-

Spencer goes out for lunch instead of eating with everyone else, taking some time to clear his head. He’s not all that necessary today anyway; they’re not doing anything with drums, so mostly he’s just hanging out and offering the occasional opinion when they decide to change something.

It’s not a big detour, so he goes across to the pharmacy to pick up a mild laxative and some numbing ointment while he’s out. He should have known Brendon wouldn’t say no. Brendon is like a big brown-eyed puppy, eager to please and falling all over himself to apologize when he thinks he’s done something wrong.

He sits on the grass and watches the clouds for a while, eating his sandwich, before dusting himself off and heading back to the studio.

There are two take-away containers in the kitchen with his name on them, one labeled in Ryan’s careful handwriting and the other in Brendon’s scrawl, with a smiley-face doodle that’s probably Brendon’s way of asking for forgiveness.

He checks inside the containers before he puts them away. The one Ryan left him has all of his favorites, neatly separated by dividers. The one Brendon left is basically a pile of everything squashed together, but there’s also enough food to feed a small army.

Spencer stacks them and puts them both away in the refrigerator, smiling. He writes ‘Thank you’ with a smiley-face on a piece of paper to slip onto Brendon’s keyboard, and heads back out to rejoin his band.

-

Spencer catches Ryan just before they turn in, in the hallway which is too public for this conversation, but he says it anyway, voice lowered against potential eavesdroppers. “Blowjobs tonight.”

Ryan looks pissed-off but also aggressive in the way he only ever gets when he feels guilty about it. “I’m trying to be careful,” he says, which is probably true, or at least as true as it can be when Ryan’s in the middle of his hormone-crazed mating cycle.

“I’m just saying,” Spencer says evenly. “Take a night off.”

Ryan makes the bitchiest face he can manage, thin arms wrapped around his skinny body. He folds almost immediately, though, shoulders drooping. “I know,” he says, eyes closing. “Fuck.”

Spencer moves in for a careful hug. He and Ryan aren’t really huggers, they never have been, but this is definitely the time to make exceptions. Ryan resists for the briefest second, then gives in and squeezes back briefly before they both let go.

“I wish it was you,” Ryan says wistfully, rubbing at a bruise on his arm. “You never gave me a hard time.”

Spencer rolls his eyes. “I told you fuck no you couldn’t fuck my mouth, and made you rub off against my leg because I was too tired to give you a handjob,” he says by way of reminder.

Ryan looks briefly startled, like he’d forgotten that part. Then he smiles slightly, teeth glinting. “You always knew how to handle me,” he says, with what counts as a leer coming from Ryan, hip bumping Spencer’s.

Spencer snorts. “Go to bed,” he says, scratching his stomach where his shirt has ridden up. “And I mean it about the blowjobs.”

“Spence,” Ryan says, urgent enough to make Spencer stop and turn to look at him. They stare at each other for a few seconds, silent, and then Ryan says, “I do wish it was you.”

They’ve been best friends for long enough that Spencer knows it for what it is, and can lean in to knock his elbow against Ryan’s when he says, “I know. Me too.”

-

“Irresponsible,” Ryan fumes, and Spencer knows it’s mostly the hormones and the fact that Ryan isn’t exactly getting any sleep either, but he still has a reason to be pissed.

Something went wrong with the last mix, and now there’s a high-pitched whine shot through every single guitar track that Ryan has spent the past day and a half laying down. They’ve called a break to regroup, and everyone who isn’t in the band has fled Ryan’s sharp-tongued wrath.

Brent looks like he’d rather be anywhere else, but he knows Ryan would ream him if he tried to leave. Spencer is weathering the storm and providing moral support. Brendon is…Brendon is cutting pictures out of a magazine and pasting them onto a piece of paper.

Ryan seems to notice around the same time Spencer does. The pacing stops, along with the swearing and wildly flailing arms, and Ryan finally says, “Brendon. What are you doing?”

Brendon slicks glue onto his latest selection and pastes it into place. His tongue is poking out to one side in concentration, the same way it does when he tries to play a guitar riff he just heard on the radio without seeing the music.

He finally turns the paper around and holds it up. Snow White and three dwarves look back at them, all jumping out at odd angles and surrounded by creative bursts of music notes and flowers.

“I’m making cover art for our album,” Brendon says. “I thought Ryan would make a great Grumpy.”

For a second, no one moves. Spencer is ready to step in and prevent homicide if Ryan suddenly launches himself at Brendon, but Ryan just stands there, staring at Brendon’s ridiculous fake album cover.

Then his lips twitch, and he can’t hold back the smile. Brendon grins back at him, and Ryan just sits down, all of the fight going out of him at once as he slaps the paper out of Brendon’s hands. “Where did you even get a Disney catalogue? God.”

Brendon holds a finger against the side of his nose. “Don’t ask these questions, Ross, you know better.”

Ryan rolls his eyes, but he’s still smiling, and Spencer thinks with some surprise that in his own way, Brendon knows how to handle Ryan too. He just goes about it differently.

Then Ryan starts snickering in earnest, and Spencer realizes Snow White is the one behind the drum kit.

-

It doesn’t get any better after the break, unfortunately. They decide to skip ahead and start layering vocal tracks while they sort out the guitar mix, which is stressful enough for Brendon and critically important for Ryan as it is, but now with the added disaster of Brendon’s voice sounding like it’s been scraped raw over a turbine blade.

Brendon manages not to scream back at Ryan once the arguments start, which is a small favor because that would only make it worse. He’s not talking much at all, honestly, but the defiance in his eyes when he stares Ryan down clearly states that he’s preserving his voice, not agreeing with anything Ryan hurls at him in the heat of the moment.

Spencer and Brent can only do so much, and Brent isn’t even really trying. On the sixteenth take of the same song when Brendon’s voice cracks on the high note, Ryan finally says without inflection, “You sound like complete shit.”

Brendon takes off his headphones and says with barely-contained calm, “Gee, Ross, I wonder why that is.” Then he walks out.

Ryan fumes for a second, nostrils flaring, and then takes off in the opposite direction. This time, after a heartbeat of deliberation, Spencer goes after Brendon.

-

Brendon’s sitting on Spencer’s bed, which would be weird except that Brendon’s bed is probably covered in spunk and lube and stale sweat, so Spencer can understand why he came in here instead. Brendon’s room probably doesn’t feel much like a haven at the moment, considering.

“I knew it was yours,” Brendon says when he comes in. “Brent would never make his bed.”

Spencer sits down, close enough that he thinks Brendon might scoot away, but he doesn’t. He thinks Brendon might have been crying, from the red under his eyes, but it’s hard to tell. He looks exhausted.

“It’s just really hard for him,” Spencer says quietly. “The album, and the band, and the way he is right now. He hates being out of control.”

Brendon wipes roughly at his eyes with the back of his wrist, which pretty much confirms Spencer’s suspicion about the crying. “I know,” he says. “I’m not mad at him.”

Spencer plays with a loose thread on the blanket while he mulls over what to say. “You could be,” he decides finally. “He’s being a dick.”

Brendon’s quiet for a minute, and then he starts laughing softly, tipping sideways to hide his face against Spencer’s shoulder. Spencer pats him awkwardly and lets him laugh-cry himself out, and offers a tissue when it seems like he’s finally done.

“Ready?” Spencer asks when Brendon finishes blowing his nose. It’s still obvious that he’s been crying, but he seems more energized now, and considerably more calm.

Brendon squares his shoulders and slam-dunks the tissue into the waste basket. “Let’s do it.”

-

It’s past midnight when the door to Ryan’s room opens and he comes out, still tugging a shirt on while he listens, phone pressed to his ear. “No, it’s going really well,” he says, giving Spencer a quick nod of acknowledgement on his way out the front door.

Brendon wanders out a few minutes later, wearing pajama pants and the summer camp t-shirt. He curls up on the couch, tucking his bare toes under the cushion, and leans in against Spencer’s side. Brendon is warm and can barely keep his eyes open, so Spencer allows it.

“You should be sleeping,” he says, quietly because Brent’s in his room on the phone again and the silence around them feels too good to disturb.

Brendon makes a noncommittal noise, huffed into the fabric of Spencer’s shirt. “He’ll only wake me up again,” he says, but the fatalistic tone is completely ruined by the jaw-popping yawn that follows it.

“I told you,” Spencer says, half-smiling because Brendon isn’t wearing his glasses and his hair is a total mess, and he’s nuzzling into Spencer’s arm kind of like an overgrown kitten.

Brendon makes another noise, a little “hmm” that probably means he’s just too tired to talk, and Spencer shifts enough that Brendon can lean up against him properly without getting a crick in his neck. He rubs Brendon’s back absently, watching the television on mute and feeling Brendon go gradually boneless.

He thinks Brendon’s fallen asleep, so it’s a surprise when he hears, “I wish…”

Spencer goes still, only partly from surprise. He turns his head, and Brendon is looking at him, eyes only half-open but fixed on his mouth before he looks up and then down and away. “What?” Spencer asks, and it’s a shock how hard his heart is pounding against his ribcage, beating loud in his ears.

Brendon closes his eyes and shakes his head, nestling back down against Spencer’s shoulder. “Nothing.”

-

The door creaks open twenty minutes later, and this time Brendon’s definitely asleep, because there’s a damp spot where he’s drooling on Spencer’s shirt.

Spencer sees the possessive jealousy flash in Ryan’s eyes before he clamps down on it, and then he just looks worn-out. Spencer cocks his head a little, an invitation for Ryan to join them, but he just shakes his head.

“He was trying to wait up for you,” Spencer says softly, trying not to disturb Brendon before he has to. “He just didn’t make it.”

Ryan’s expression is amused for a half-second, before the lust starts creeping back in around the edges, focused and desperate. Spencer is already reaching to wake Brendon up when Ryan shakes his head again.

“Let him sleep,” he says, barely loud enough for Spencer to hear. “He needs it.”

Spencer checks the clock, does the math, and frowns. “You’ll never make it,” he says flatly, because if Brendon sleeps through ‘til morning, that means at least six or seven hours of Ryan going crazy locked inside his hormone-crazed body without any form of relief.

Ryan’s smile looks more like a grimace, but he still makes the effort. “I made it last time,” he says, and Spencer bites back his argument that last time was completely different, last time he didn’t have the person he needed fifteen feet away and available, because it’s Ryan’s choice and he looks determined to make the sacrifice.

“I’ll send him in if he wakes up,” Spencer offers, the best compromise he can come up with, and Ryan nods.

“Sleep well,” he says as he turns to go, and Spencer calls softly after him, “You, too.”

-

Spencer wakes up in the morning with the worst kink in his neck he’s possibly ever had, and Brendon draped over him like a skinny, gangly human blanket. He realizes that what woke him was the clatter of a dish breaking, and opens his eyes to see Ryan motioning frantically with his hands for Spencer not to get up.

“It’s fine, I just, sorry, fuck,” Ryan says, and his hands are shaking when they pick up the pieces of the bowl.

Spencer blinks fully awake, and a second later Brendon’s sleep-gravelly voice says, “Ross?”

“I didn’t mean to wake you up,” Ryan mumbles, hair hiding his face, and Brendon’s weight disappears, so Spencer gets up to help Ryan clean up, catching his hands before he can cut himself on the shards.

“Stop it,” Spencer grumps, pushing Ryan’s hands back for the third time. “I’ll get it.”

“Stop being so bitchy,” Ryan snaps, coiled tight and lashing out.

“Of course I’m bitchy, it’s five fucking AM,” Spencer retorts, and Ryan inhales to reply before huffing out a defeated breath and saying, “Yeah, sorry.”

“Hey,” Brendon says behind them, and they both twist around at the same time to look at him. He’s still totally mussed and barely upright, pink creases along his neck and cheek from the wrinkles in Spencer’s shirt, still sleep-lethargic but definitely awake. Spencer’s stomach drops a little, and he thinks he gets it now, why Ryan chose Brendon.

Ryan doesn’t move, vibrating in place like he’s afraid of what he’ll do if he doesn’t hold himself back. Brendon holds out an arm, clearing more gravel from his throat before saying again, “Ross. Hey.”

Ryan inhales, swiftly through his nose, and then he moves so fast it might count as a tackle, if Ryan could ever be considered athletic enough to do things like tackle people. Brendon’s breath leaves him in a rush, but he’s chuckling, low in his throat the way he always is in the mornings. Spencer looks away and finishes cleaning up the bowl.

-

Ryan and Brendon disappear for the next few hours, and Spencer thinks about going back to sleep but decides against it. Brent is probably snoring up a storm, and now that Spencer’s awake, he’s hungry. He might as well eat breakfast.

He goes to get his headphones from the bedroom a few hours later, and hears low murmurs coming from the other bedroom. It doesn’t sound like sex, but when he pauses to listen, he hears Brendon laugh and say, “Forget it, your ass privileges are revoked until further notice,” so at least they seem to be holding up okay, in spite of everything.

Brent comes out half an hour later and says, “Brendon and Ryan are doing it again,” and Spencer bites his tongue and pretends he didn’t hear. He’s doing a crossword, which sucks without Ryan because Ryan’s the word guy, and Spencer never does as well by himself. He’s fighting the urge to go knock on the door and ask Ryan about forty-six across.

Brendon wanders out half an hour later and eats everything left on the table, and when Ryan comes out he wordlessly offers up what’s left of the last banana. Ryan says, “Gee, thanks,” and Brendon grins up at him. Brent makes a face like he’s just swallowed a lemon.

When Brent leaves the room, Spencer says casually, “You might want to try dialing it back a few notches.”

Ryan is half-leaning into Brendon, and he starts to straighten up, but Brendon shakes his head, arm tightening around Ryan’s shoulders, and says, “This works better.”

Ryan looks a lot more relaxed, and Spencer’s not about to argue with that, so he shuts up and lets them do it their way. Brent can deal.

-

Ryan throws a hissy fit and rails at Brendon for ten minutes straight right as they go on lunch break, so Spencer mentally steels himself and heads after him.

“What was that about?” he asks. There isn’t enough gravel left outside to kick, it’s all been scattered through the grass. He thinks Ryan may need to find a new form of stress relief, one that doesn’t involve assaulting splinters of rock or fucking Brendon silly.

Ryan’s pacing, hands jammed into the pockets of his – no, of _Brendon’s_ – hoodie. Spencer wonders if that’s actually helping, or just contributing to the frustration. “I just wish it wasn’t him,” he says tightly.

“Brendon?” Spencer asks, adjusting to meet this new complication. He can handle Ryan, he can, he just needs to know what the actual issues are, and not just what Ryan admits out loud.

“He’s so fucking touchy. And happy all the time, Jesus. It’s like he never runs out of energy, and he’s never heard of personal space.”

Spencer blinks a few times, then frowns and says, “Ryan.”

“And I don’t want him around all the time, God. It’s not my fault I’m like this, it’s like he doesn’t get that I can’t help it and I don’t actually _want_ him, but he won’t back off and just leave me alone for five minutes, he’s so…”

“Ryan,” Spencer says again, louder. “Shut the fuck up.”

To his credit, or maybe just because he knows that tone of voice by now, Ryan does. He stands there glowering, arms crossed over his chest, defying Spencer to say anything else.

Because Ryan’s his best friend, Spencer completely ignores the warning and says it anyway. “He’s doing you a pretty huge fucking favor, so seriously, shut up or I will hurt you.”

Ryan bristles, but Spencer stares him down, and finally he slumps and rubs at his forehead. “I just want it to be over,” he mutters at the ground, and Spencer feels the same way, so he understands. He really does.

“Stop yelling at him,” he says. “It’s like kicking a puppy. Call a break if you need one, seriously. You know I’ve got your back. We both do.”

Ryan nods, scuffing his toe through the dirt, so Spencer steps in before he ruins his shoes. “I could murder a pizza, come on,” he says, as lightly as he can manage. “Let’s go make sure they don’t pussy out and order sandwiches.”

-

Ryan actually behaves himself for the rest of the day, which is admirable for someone going through as much shit as he is right now, and everyone’s in a good mood by the time they break for the night, satisfied with what they got done and how it sounds.

Brendon is actually in a writing frenzy, and half of it sounds like shit because of how exhausted he is, but the rest of it could actually be something, once he figures out where he wants to go with it. He’s moved his keyboard onto the ground and taps out melodies lying on his stomach, humming along and kicking his legs in the air while he scribbles down notations.

Spencer gets used to stepping over him, so it’s a surprise when he comes out of the bathroom and runs right into him, hopping around on one foot in the hallway. Spencer catches him before he overbalances, and they both blink at each other for a minute before Spencer says cautiously, “Okay?”

Brendon blinks a few more times, then says, “Yeah, I just. My shoe. Laces.”

“Right,” Spencer says, like that made any sort of sense at all, and then finds himself with an armful of Brendon, arms tight around his waist and face buried in Spencer’s neck. Spencer isn’t a huggy person, but he makes allowances for Brendon, who is, so he wraps his arms around Brendon and gently pats him for as long as Brendon needs to hold on.

“I’m so tired,” Brendon whispers. The cheerful creative energy has drained completely, leaving him clingy and limp. The skin under his eyes looks bruised, even after sleeping for a few hours last night.

Spencer opens his mouth to say something reassuring, and that’s when he catches sight of Ryan, standing with fists clenched and jaw set a few feet away, absolute murder in his eyes.

Spencer doesn’t let go of Brendon, and he doesn’t back down. “Don’t,” he says, quiet but firm. “Ryan.”

Brendon looks up when Spencer speaks, disoriented – Spencer thinks he may have just been half-asleep on his feet – and focuses on Ryan. There’s a second where they all just stare at each other, and then Ryan whirls around and walks away.

Brendon pulls back out of the embrace, confused. “What…?” he asks, tugging the cuffs of his shirt back down.

Spencer sighs, and wishes he had some gravel to kick. “It’s part of the thing,” he says through gritted teeth, frustration at the whole situation making his head throb. “You’re, uh. You’re his right now.”

“Oh,” Brendon says, looking blankly at Spencer. “Okay. I should probably…”

“Yeah,” Spencer says. He leaves Brendon in charge of soothing Ryan and goes to find some Advil.

-

Spencer’s in bed already when he hears the thunk from the next room, followed by a loud cracking sound and an even louder thump and crash.

Brent has his headphones on, so Spencer gets out of bed cautiously and listens to see if he can hear anything else. That didn’t sound like a sex thump, but he’d like to be sure before he unwittingly interrupts something. Interrupting Ryan when he’s like this is not generally a good idea.

The next thing he hears is laughter, high-pitched and almost hysterical, so he lifts his hand and taps lightly on the door. He thinks he hears, “Come in,” lost in the sound of Brendon braying like a donkey, so he turns the knob and opens it just a crack.

When he doesn’t catch sight of naked flesh, he pushes it open further, and is greeted by the sight of Ryan sitting on the bed looking completely flummoxed, and Brendon rolling around on the ground beside him. Beside him, because the bed is on the floor.

Spencer feels his lips twitch. “You broke the bed?” he asks, in what completely fails to be an innocent tone of voice.

Brendon tries to speak and ends up just laughing harder. Ryan flops back on the bed, looking grumpy but also like he’s starting to see the humor in the situation. “He was all…” Ryan explains without explaining, waving his hand around vaguely. “On the bed, and I…”

Brendon practically shrieks, then pulls it together enough to create what must be a re-enactment, eyes going dramatically wide before he launches himself at Ryan on the bed. Ryan bats at him irritably, but not in earnest, and when Brendon starts laughing again and mashes his face against Ryan’s neck, Ryan actually reaches up to run his fingers through Brendon’s hair.

They’re both still dressed, so nothing must have happened yet, but Spencer isn’t going to bet on it staying that way for long. “I’ll just…” he says, starting to back away and close the door.

“No, wait,” Ryan says suddenly, sounding sharp and desperate. “Spence. Stay.” When Spencer freezes, he bites his lip and says, without meeting Spencer’s eyes, “It would be good to…not be tempted for a change. Just for a while.”

Spencer considers for a minute. Then he says, “Okay,” and shuts the door.

-

“Why isn’t it over yet?” Ryan complains, one hand over his face. Brendon is lounging comfortably over his side, and apparently he was totally onto something with the physical contact, because Ryan is actually doing okay and not trying to maul him. Spencer thinks they must have just had sex in the shower, because both of them have damp hair and are wearing pajamas, so that probably helps as well.

“Just a few more days,” Spencer reminds him, and can’t help how relieved he feels when he says it, even though Ryan just groans like Spencer’s given him a death sentence.

“I’m going to sleep so much,” Brendon announces, somehow scooting around so his legs are over Spencer’s while his head is pillowed on Ryan’s thigh. “So, so much.”

Ryan just groans again, and rubs at his eyes, which are completely bloodshot. Spencer reaches out to catch his wrist without thinking, and rubs at his pulse point. “You need to take a night off and sleep,” he says. He’s ninety-nine percent certain Ryan didn’t sleep at all the night before, and it shows.

“Yes,” Ryan says emphatically, and then he catches on to what Spencer means and says just as emphatically, “No.”

“Yes,” Spencer echoes, while Brendon lifts his head up and says, “What?”

Spencer had to do this once last time, too, after Ryan’s girlfriend had dumped him not for being a nymphomaniac, but for becoming so jealously possessive that he wouldn’t let her out of his sight and lost his shit when he caught her hugging a male friend. Ryan had made it two days, going more and more crazy the whole time, and when locking Ryan in his room and sitting on his chest to keep him from going after her hadn’t worked anymore, Spencer had finally resorted to other means.

Ryan cracks an eye open and looks at him, reluctantly considering. Spencer pokes him in the chest. “You need a break,” he says, and Ryan groans again but doesn’t argue. He drops his head onto the covers and grumbles something that could possibly be interpreted as assent.

“Don’t get naked while I’m gone, I’m counting on you,” Spencer tells Brendon, and goes to get supplies.

-

Ryan makes a face when Spencer hands him the first shot, but he knocks it back without a word, and then makes an even more exaggerated face after he swallows. “I hate drinking,” he complains. Spencer hands him another shot.

“You’re going to hate it more in the morning, but you’ll also thank me,” Spencer predicts, and lets Brendon have a shot as well when he holds out his hand, because they have a whole bottle, which is more than enough to go around.

“This tastes terrible,” Brendon says, sounding impressed, although Spencer notices that he passes his glass back for a refill anyway.

“See what you can get for twenty bucks,” Spencer challenges, trying to pour without slopping liquor onto the bed. They might not notice it tonight, but it will reek tomorrow. “Stop it,” he adds, as Ryan’s hand starts wandering towards Brendon’s crotch. “Less touching, more drinking.”

Brendon starts giggling. He’s only had two shots, but then Brendon always has been a lightweight, so Spencer’s not really all that surprised. “You too,” he says for good measure, and tries not to smile when Brendon makes wide, wounded doe eyes at him and can only hold it for about five seconds without giggling again.

“This had better work,” Ryan grumbles, but he sounds more relaxed already, and Spencer’s calculations suggest he should be out cold within the next four shots.

“Break,” he announces, setting the bottle aside on the floor. “I want you to sleep, not die of alcohol poisoning.”

Ryan rolls his eyes. “Spencer’s mean,” he says, and Brendon laughs so hard he falls off the bed again.

-

“Spencer,” Ryan says earnestly, six shots in. “Spencer, you’re my best friend. In the whole world.”

Ryan drunk is always hilarious, but somehow having Brendon there laughing like a hyena just makes it funnier. “I know,” Spencer says solemnly. “Keep drinking.”

“No, I want…” Ryan insists, and before he realizes what’s happening, Spencer has been tugged across Ryan’s lap and is being kissed, messily and with sincerity.

Spencer kisses him back, because otherwise Ryan will throw a fit, pout, and possibly start crying, but he keeps it as chaste as he can because he’s very aware, even if Ryan isn’t, of Brendon sitting just a few feet away watching them. “Hey,” he says when Ryan eases up a little. “I’m not having a threesome with you.”

Ryan looks confused, and then his gaze sharpens, predatory and hungry. “Brendon.”

“Drink,” Spencer says hastily, shoving another glass at Ryan before he has to physically wrestle them apart. Brendon’s had three shots and is drunk off his ass; Spencer isn’t counting on him being much of a help.

“Is he always like this?” Brendon asks, seeming fascinated by the spectacle that is Ryan when he’s intoxicated.

“Always,” Spencer says wearily, but it’s fond at the same time. Ryan makes another face at him and launches into his bossy Spencer impression, which Spencer tolerates because it’s Ryan’s eighth shot and he should be passing out any minute now. Also because it is actually pretty funny.

“Tired,” Ryan says abruptly, breaking off mid-Spencer-tirade and falling back onto the pillows. He closes his eyes and murmurs, “Brendon,” and Brendon squirms his way around into Ryan’s arms, nuzzling close until they’re curled together like puppies. Sleepy, drunk puppies.

Spencer’s putting the lid back on the bottle and getting ready to pass out himself when Ryan says, slurred and serious, “Love you.”

Spencer smiles faintly, flips the light switch and says, “Love you too.”

-

They all sleep in late, even Spencer, who really has no excuse besides the fact that for once he can sleep without worrying about Ryan. Ryan’s phone goes off just after eleven, which sends them all stumbling bleary-eyed into the hallway to start getting ready for the day.

Brendon bounces on his toes while he and Spencer crowd each other out for sink space to brush their teeth, humming something that sounds like _Philadelphia Freedom_.

“Stop being so cheerful,” Spencer warns, and Brendon just grins at him.

“I have such a headache,” he says. “Man, Ross is going to…”

“Blargh,” Ryan says unintelligibly, shouldering past them and pushing the door closed until they’re both out in the hallway. Brendon laughs, and a second later the door opens and Ryan’s skinny arm shoots out to drag Brendon back in after him.

“Hey,” Spencer hears before the door closes again. “Ow, ow…oh.”

Spencer stands there for a minute trying to decide whether it’s worth interrupting them to reclaim his mouthwash, and finally decides he’d rather not cross Ryan with a hangover first thing in the morning.

-

They work through dinner to make up for starting late, the pressure of a deadline finally starting to loom. Spencer watches the clock, but there’s really nothing he can do. He keeps his eyes open for an opportunity to take a break and hopes no one else notices that Ryan is undressing their lead singer with his eyes.

Brendon seems oblivious, or maybe he’s just gotten used to it by now. He’s back to full energy, pounding out elaborate compositions on his keyboard and practicing rock star poses with an electric guitar. Ryan keeps creeping closer when they play, to the point that Spencer is inventing a cover story about this being practice for part of the stage act.

Brendon’s on top of a speaker and Ryan is staring hungrily and unabashedly at his ass when everything suddenly comes crashing down. Everything, in this case, meaning Brendon.

“Shit,” Spencer says when his tongue unfreezes, half-standing as Brendon folds into a crumpled heap over his ankle.

“Ow,” Brendon says weakly. “Okay, yeah, that hurt.”

“What did you do?” Brent asks, as if they didn’t all just watch him fall off of a speaker.

“I think it’s okay,” Brendon says, making doe eyes at their assorted tech staff. “Maybe some ice? Sorry, guys, can we take ten? I’m just going to go prop it up on the bed and check it out. I’m really sorry.”

Sometimes Spencer wonders why they all constantly underestimate Brendon.

“Can you make it on your own?” Spencer prompts, because Ryan doesn’t appear to have caught on yet.

Brendon makes a noble effort to stand, winces and falls back to the floor. “I think maybe…hey, Ross, can you help?”

Ryan unfreezes, and Spencer still isn’t sure that he’s figured out the ploy, but Brendon hooks his arm over Ryan’s shoulders and starts hobbling towards their bedroom, so Spencer assumes he’ll get it soon enough.

They all hang out for a couple of minutes, and then everyone pauses at the sound of a muffled moan. Spencer’s hoping it can be written off as a groan of pain.

“Hey, I think something’s out of tune on my kit,” he says loudly, slamming three things at once to make as much noise as possible. “Can everyone listen to it and tell me if it sounds off?”

He starts banging and crashing his way through a cacophony of sound, and hopes that Brendon is as fast as he is clever.

-

“Spencer Smith,” Brendon says, looking up pitifully from where he’s been banished, on a chair behind the keyboard. “I have to go. Potty break.”

“Okay,” Spencer says slowly, because Brendon over-shares on a regular basis, but not usually to this degree. Then Brendon holds both arms up, and Spencer huffs out an exasperated breath because seriously, this is going too far.

“I want piggyback,” Brendon announces, and Spencer groans when Brendon hops up and wraps his arms around Spencer’s neck.

“Oh my _God,_ ” Spencer mutters. “You’re not even really hurt.”

“They don’t know that,” Brendon replies, soft and secretive next to Spencer’s ear. “I’m keeping up appearances.”

“I hate you,” Spencer tells him, nearly staggering into the wall when he tries to set Brendon down.

“It’s for the good of the band,” Brendon says solemnly, then winks and hops inside.

-

Spencer doesn’t even see it coming. One minute he’s rolling his eyes at Brendon’s theatrics, and the next he’s against the wall, with Ryan hissing dangerously, “ _Stop touching him._ ”

Spencer’s first instinct is to fight, but he overrides it, makes sure not to struggle even though Ryan has both hands fisted in his collar, frighteningly close to his throat. He swallows, says carefully, “Ryan.”

There’s really nothing else he can do. No one else is in the hallway, Brendon’s in the bathroom, and Spencer really doesn’t want to yell for help and then have to explain why Ryan’s acting like a lunatic.

He sees sense slowly return to Ryan’s eyes, and then Ryan’s face is behind his hands, and he’s stepping back, muttering under his breath. “Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck._ ”

Spencer gives him a second, and then cautiously reaches out to touch Ryan’s arm. Ryan flinches away, but moves back in the next breath, coming in for a hug with his face hidden against Spencer’s neck. “I hate this,” he says, quiet and fierce. “I hate it, I hate it.”

“I know,” Spencer says, holding Ryan tighter than he has in a long time, keeping him together. Ryan shudders, and Spencer is about to go tell the other guys that they’re done for the day when he feels someone else come up behind Ryan, sandwiching him in.

Ryan goes rigid, muscles tense. Spencer tries carefully, “Brendon, maybe now isn’t the best time.”

“I’m helping,” Brendon says, one arm creeping all the way around to Spencer while the other one worms between them to wrap around Ryan’s waist.

“You’re really not,” Ryan says, but he’s relaxing a little bit anyway, letting Brendon squeeze him.

“Group hug therapy, Ross,” Brendon says, like it’s something they should all know about and practice on a regular basis. “Feel the love.”

Part of Spencer wants to roll his eyes, but whatever magic Brendon has to get Ryan to lighten up is working, because Ryan starts laughing against Spencer’s neck. And if Spencer’s collar gets a little damp, he doesn’t say a thing.

-

Ryan sneaks into Spencer’s bed just after one in the morning, silently lifting up the covers and tucking himself up against Spencer’s side. Brent’s out with some of the other guys, hitting a party or something, whatever a college town has to offer in the summer, so the room is quiet for once.

“What is it?” Spencer asks, waking up immediately, already reaching to hit the lights. Ryan stops him with a hand on his wrist, and in the dim light Spencer can see him shaking his head.

“I think it’s over,” he says, voice lowered even though Brendon is in the next room and probably passed out. “It feels like it, anyway.”

Spencer rubs his back and wakes up a little more, although his eyes close, because if Ryan just came to tell him things are back to normal, it means he can fall asleep again soon. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Ryan’s quiet for a while, and Spencer thinks maybe he just needed to get out of his own room for a while, away from Brendon and the smell of sex, all the physical reminders of the past week. Then he adds quietly, “I think I know. Why it was Brendon.”

Spencer rouses himself again, rolls over onto his side so he can actually see Ryan’s face, because this has the tone of a confession. He’s not sure what it will be or whether he really wants to hear it, but he’s going to listen in any case.

Ryan doesn’t say anything for so long that Spencer thinks he might need to be prompted, but then he finally breaks the silence. “I saw the way you looked at him. I think my subconscious or whatever decided that if I didn’t have anyone I felt that way about, I could still. I could trust anyone you looked at like that.”

Spencer feels like he can’t breathe, like there’s something sitting on his chest. “Ryan,” he starts, without knowing what he’s going to say, beyond a denial of some sort.

“Spencer,” Ryan interrupts, cutting him off in his brooking-no-arguments tone of voice, the one Spencer thinks Ryan may have picked up from Spencer’s mom. “I just wanted to say I was sorry. Even though I don’t think I could have stopped it. It’s still a shitty thing to do.”

“It’s not,” Spencer says, although he’s still trying to process that, to make sense of it. “I’m not…”

“Spence,” Ryan says, and even in the dark, Spencer can tell he’s making the ‘my best friend is an idiot’ face. “Don’t be stupid.”

“You’re stupid,” Spencer retorts. It’s one in the morning and Ryan’s dropping bombs, so his comebacks aren’t what they usually are.

“Your mom is stupid,” Ryan deadpans, and that’s when the elephant stops sitting on Spencer’s chest and he thinks it might just be okay, after all.

-

“I’m becoming a born-again virgin,” Brendon announces the next morning, after sleeping until ten and eating at least half of everyone else’s breakfast. “Like Queen Elizabeth.”

“Was she really?” Ryan asks, skeptical. Brendon ignores him and carries on waving his fork dramatically.

“I’m never having sex again. Well,” he considers, pausing. “That might be drastic. But at _least_ a year.”

“A year, huh?” Ryan says, smirking. Spencer kicks him under the table.

“Six months,” Brendon amends, clearly thinking it over. “Maybe three months. I’ve been ravaged, I need time to heal.”

Ryan rolls his eyes in a way that somehow manages to be more eloquent than words ever could. Spencer studiously focuses on his breakfast, or at least what’s left of it after Brendon got to it.

“I could be persuaded to less by the right person. You are not the right person, Ross,” Brendon says sternly, looking over his glasses like some kind of elderly maiden librarian. Spencer laughs, and Brendon’s eyes cut slyly sideways, and that’s when Spencer realizes that Brendon is flirting. With him.

Spencer clears his throat and stretches out a little. His chest feels tight suddenly, and kind of tingly. “Three months of born-again virginity?” he asks casually.

Brendon’s grin grows a little around the edges, making Ryan snort laughter and possibly milk as well. “I’m still thinking it over,” he says. “Talk to me next week.”


End file.
